


Redneck and Saints

by beccaj327



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Walking Dead Season 2, don't know what what to tag, rating to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccaj327/pseuds/beccaj327
Summary: This is what I believe would happen if Murphy MacManus met Daryl Dixon. (no spoilers)





	Redneck and Saints

Daryl Dixon grabbed his crossbow from its designated resting place in the camp and headed into the woods. He was still pretty determined to find that Sophia girl, even though he wasn't quite sure why. Ignoring the calls from Rick and the rest of the survivors, Daryl swung his trusted weapon onto his shoulder and ducked under the tree line. He didn't need to answer to them, nor did they need to try and "look after" him like they did each other. He could take care of himself.

The terrain was a lot more like what Daryl was used to, growing up in the boonies of southern Georgia, so navigating around it and searching the grounds was easier for him, especially alone. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself.

"SOPHIA!" he cried out when he spotted what looked like the foot prints of a small child. "SOPHIA!" Daryl turned around a couple of times, hoping that the girl would jump out and he could just take her back to camp. When he heard nothing for a couple of minutes, he cursed and followed the faint foot prints deeper into the woods.

An hour later, the younger Dixon brother had lost the trail and Sophia still hadn't shown herself. Daryl was getting frustrated. The girl should have just stayed where Rick had told her to! Damn girl… couldn't follow orders.

"You'd better still be alive…" Daryl muttered under his breath.

As much as he wanted to be pissed that the girl didn't stay still, he could understand why she felt the need to run. With walkers out-numbering humans these days, it was an even more terrifying world than the one they used to know. The only options were to keep moving and fight for your life.

And Daryl wasn't heartless, either, unlike what so many of the group may think. He cared that Carol couldn't sleep at night and spent most of her time either crying or distracting herself (mostly because it caused him to lose sleep). Sophia had a good mother; a loving mother. Something Daryl wished he could have known himself. He never envied anyone, though. He wasn't jealous of what others had. His home life and the way he had grown up was what had made him into who he was today and what made him so capable of surviving this apocalyptic world they were living in now. But he still didn't want Carol to spend one more night crying.

"SOPHIA!" He tried to call out again. Surely Sophia knew that he was only trying to help, not hurt her. He knew Ed had been abusive to at least Carol. He wasn't sure if he had ever raised his hand to Sophia. If he had, maybe Sophia was intentionally avoiding Daryl's calls? If she was afraid of being hurt, maybe she thought it best to avoid men, and so was hiding from him, not the walkers. "Fuck…" Daryl muttered again. "Sophia! Please! If you's out here, let me take ya back to your mom!" He said, trying a softer approach.

"Oi! Who da fuck's shoutin' ou' 'ere!" Daryl spun on his heels, crossbow drawn and pointed at where the voice came from.

"Show yourself!" Daryl yelled.

"Murph, ya hear dat! He knows ano'er word other than 'Sophia'!" Another voice called out, and Daryl could hear snickering.

Daryl growled. "I said show yaselves, ya cowards!"

"Ya know, Murph, he looks jus' like ye!" the second voice stated. Daryl could tell that the voices where getting closer, but he couldn't figure out why he hadn't heard footsteps.

"No way, Con! The guy looks nothin' like me, ye wop!" the first voice again. Daryl shifted his crossbow several inches to either side, trying to decide if he could shoot the voices.

"Who are ya!" Daryl asked, never lowering his crossbow. "What's your names?" Stupid question,yatard! He thought to himself. After they just got done callin' each other by their names, ya ask what their names are. You really are an idiot, aren't you!

Two men who were dressed identical stepped out of a clearing that Daryl hadn't noticed before just to his left. Daryl had to do a double take before really looking at the one on the left. If that was 'Murph', then 'Con' was right. They did look alike. A lot alike!

He knew the thought was irrational, but Daryl couldn't help but think That fucker stole my face!

"I think the question that should be asked is, who are you?" the man on the right tilted his head at Daryl and gave him a look that was half smirk, half curious. Daryl wasn't sure if he wanted to put an arrow through this fucker's head, or shake his hand.

"I asked first." Ya ain't in grade school, ya tard! Meryl's voice rang in his head as he said this.

The two men opposite him shared a humored glance at each other before speaking. The one on the right, the sandy blond, spoke first. "Me name's Connor. Connor MacManus."

"And I'm Murphy MacManus. And yer name is…?"

Daryl studied the two closely for a second without answering the question.

"Oi! We answered ye, now do the same favor and tell us yer name"

"Daryl. Mah name's Daryl. Your accents. They ain't southern. Where ya from? How'd ya get ta Georgia?" Daryl finally asked, really listening to the off accent that the two shared.

"Naw, we're Irish, ya twit. Can't ye tell?" Murphy smirked at the look that crossed Daryl's face. Neither brother had missed that the man refused to let his crossbow down. He kept it pointing at the brother that happened to be talking.

"Ye know, Murph. They say dat ye have a twin somewhere in da world. Maybe we found yers?" Connor chuckled.

"What's with ya and all this 'they' shit!" Murphy could swear that they had been through this conversation before.

"Shut up!" Daryl growled. "How'd ya get ta Georgia!"

"Well… we took a boat ta Boston a little over a year ago." Connor answered, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Ta GEORGIA?" Daryl was losing patience. The longer he stayed there talking with these ass monkeys, the colder the tail he found was getting.

"We drove." Murphy shrugged. "Same way ye prolly got here."

"Who's Sophia?" Connor asked.

"Little girl." Daryl growled. "Lost her couple of days ago. Been lookin' for her since. Now move before I shoot ya, you're in mah way."

"Couple of days?" Murphy's eyes widened. "I doubt she's still alive, man."

"Fuck, a walker prolly got her a while ago. No way she's still alive!" Connor exclaimed.

"Shut up!" Daryl put on his best menacing face, "Shut your fuckin' mouths! She's still alive!"

Murphy shook his head. "Doubt it. Da chances of findin' a missin' person drops by nearly 50% after 24 hours, and you'll be lucky if you find 'em alive after 48 hours. But 72? Ye's wastin' ya time."

"I said shut up!" Daryl finally lost it and dropped the crossbow as he tackled Murphy.

Connor wasn't surprised by the attack, in fact, he actually saw it coming. He wanted to warn Murphy not to push the man, but he agreed with his brother. The chances of finding this girl were nearly non-existent. And finding her alive… it would be nothing short of a miracle if they did.

The blond brother thought about interjecting, but he knew it had been a good while since Murphy had gotten into a decent bar-style fight, so he let his brother fend for himself for a while. Before long, their grunts and muttered insults turned into coherent sentences, much to Connor's entertainment.

"Ya don't fuckin' tell me that I'm wastin' mah time! I know she's still alive! She has ta be!"

"Think logically, ya twit! She's been lost fer days! Ya can't possibly think she's gonna be fine!" Murphy blocked a punch and easily speared the man who looked nearly identical to him.

"She's alive! And you's not gonna tell me otherwise, ya Irish faggot!"

Murphy stopped. The last time anyone had called either him or Connor an "Irish Faggot", Murphy was nearly killed and Connor had nearly killed himself trying to save him. "FUCK YOU!" the dark haired brother cried as he lunged again at the hick, this time with the intent to take him down.

At that point, Connor attempted to get involved, but he really didn't need to. Murphy quickly gained the upper hand, being able to pin the hick to the ground, on his stomach with his hands behind his back.

"Now, you listen to us," Murphy huffed. "We've done nothin' to ya, 'cept maybe push ya buttons. We were just tryin' ta talk some sense into ya! Now calm da fuck down."

"Git off of me!" Daryl struggled to get up, but to no avail. Murphy had a very strong grip on the man, keeping him on the ground.

"Not until ya calm the fuck down!"

"Fuck it… I need a fuckin' drink."

Murphy nodded in approval. "I agree. Ye prolly do need a drink."

Daryl sighed. "I ain't gonna kill ya, now will ya git off o' me now? I need ta get goin' and back to mah search."

Connor shook his head. The man just didn't get it, did he?

"Maybe we can help." Murphy finally offered. "If yer that set on findin' this girl, then ya might need help."

"Murph! Have ye lost it? We need ta find safety! Dat was our plan!" Connor gawked at his brother, not believing what he was hearing.

"Have a heart, Connor!" Murphy rolled his eyes as he stood up, offering the hick a hand to help him up. "IF da girl is alive, she'll be terrified! We can 'elp him search for a little bit."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Daryl grunted. "I don't need you two helpin' me. Besides, ya don't even have weapons."

Murphy and Connor smirked and both drew two guns out of their pea coats. Daryl just stared at them.

"Well, are we gonna find this Sophia, or are ya just gonna stand there lookin' like an idiot?" Connor snickered.

In a huff, Daryl picked up his crossbow and started walking in the direction that he was heading to start with. "Asshole… stole my face… didn't give me a chance… I let him win…" Daryl kept muttering to himself as he walked, fully aware of the brothers behind him, most likely snickering at his muttering. "SOPHIA!" He had better find that girl quick…

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHH! Not exactly how I was picturing this story going... But it works! I hope! LOL This is my 1st real attempt at a cross-over, so please be kind! I would like to thank my BETA Reader and all my friends who helped me out with this, and also I would like to say THANK YOU! to Norman Reedus, himself, for not only playing two of the bad-est assed (don't care if that didn't make sense :P) men in the world, but also for giving me this idea. In an interview, Mr. Reedus answered the question "What do you think would happen if Murphy and Daryl happened to meet?" and I believe his answer was something along the lines of "Murphy would see right through Daryl and be all 'Let's get a drink!'" :P


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